


Goodbyes Keep You Alive

by daystarsearcher



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daystarsearcher/pseuds/daystarsearcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sex is always best after one of them has almost died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbyes Keep You Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle.  
>   
> Doctor Who is the property of the BBC, not me; I'm not making any money from this, so suing me would be really counterproductive. Please don't do it.

The sex is always best after one of them has almost died.

On the way back to the TARDIS they keep their eyes down, try not to look at each other, but they can feel it humming and sparking between them, a live feed, electric current.

When it’s him that’s nearly bought it she can’t help but steal little glances, one, two, three, just to check that he’s still there, still breathing, still alive in all his scarfed, mad-eyed, irrepressibly-humming-Beethoven’s-fifth-symphony-even-though-he-almost-just-sodding- _died_ glory. That he hasn’t gone and left her. 

By the time they reach the TARDIS she is trembling, her hands twitching at her sides and her mind whirling with a thousand visions of what it would have been like if he had died, if he hadn’t opened his eyes again, if he hadn’t sat up, and she’s about to cry all over again just with the imagining of it—and then he kisses her. And his mouth is wide and wet and wonderful, and suddenly the most important thing in the universe is to touch him and keep on touching him, so she bites his lips and apologizes with licks of her tongue, slips her hands under his shirt to rake her nails down his back and then soothes the scratches with caresses of her palms. All the oxygen seems to have left the room because she can’t breathe, breathing is impossible, and the only thing to make it even a little better is to keep learning and relearning the shape of his body and texture of his skin against hers, so she strips him and pushes him to the floor to rub and kiss and squeeze and press into every inch of him, every living breathing exquisite piece. She rides him hard, marks him and makes him hers, and every love-bite and gasp and thrust and strainingly whispered “Sarah” marks him as alive, alive and here, alive and breathing and here—

She comes weeping, and pillows her face against his chest so he won’t see, but he feels, and he strokes her hair and kisses the top of her head and her shoulders, and whispers nonsense words soft and sweet.

In the afterglow, he cajoles her and teaches her tricks— _Did you know the tongue is the most flexible muscle in the human body, Sarah? Did you know that Gallifreyans can hum a tone that can induce orgasm in certain other species? Oh, and there’s this lovely little position I learned on Cerebus Seven, did you know—_

And the tears dry, finally, and she laughs, and she is so happy, here with him.

When it’s her that’s almost been sacrificed or blown up or fed to the local monster, the Doctor’s eyes darken, get hard and sharp as flint, cold as ice. He doesn’t bother with undressing either of them all the way, just fucks her hard up against the TARDIS wall or bent over the console the second they’re inside. After he comes he pauses only to pull up his trousers; hoists her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing at all, carries to her a bedroom and uses his scarf to blindfold and gag her, uses the rest of its length to tie her face-down on the bed.

For the next few hours he drives her mad with feather-light caresses all over her body, sometimes one after another, sometimes with as much as ten minutes in between. Sometimes a sharp stinging slap on her bottom, sometimes a firm squeeze of her breast as his tongue swipes along her neck, sometimes just his long slender fingers ghosting down between her shoulder blades before pulling away. He torments her with the unpredictability until she is pleading, begging, promise after promise spilling uninterrupted from her throat and muffled against the wool—she’ll never wander off on her own or go through doors marked ‘Positively No Admittance’ ever again, she’ll never deliberately antagonize their captors ever again, she’ll suck him off in front of the entire Gallifreyan High Council if he’ll just let her come, _oh god Doctor please Doctor please—_

Sometimes her squirming and stifled imploring excite him enough that he pulls out the gag and shoves his cock in instead, and she sucks and licks and laves, so eager, so grateful for the contact, rubbing herself shamelessly against the bedcovers. But most times he is patient, waits until she is sobbing and limp with lust and need before pouncing on her and taking her hard, pounding her into the mattress.

Afterwards he lies on top of her, panting like a wolf against her neck. He doesn’t tell her to stop taking risks, that her little human life is too short as it is, that he has been out of his mind with fear. He doesn’t tell her, but she hears it anyway.

When it’s both of them that have nearly been killed, the need is twice as strong but they stumble through the steps. Hard then soft, fast then slow; she goes to kiss his shoulder and ends up biting his nipple, he pins her wrists to her side and then releases them, bending to press his lips against her neck. Their hands skitter and jump and tremble against each other with joy and relief and still-lingering adrenaline, gasps become sobs become laughter, become moans deep and rich and lasting. She accidentally knees him in the stomach as she clambers on top; he tries to mount her and slips, his elbow smacking her back. Sometimes they have to give up for a half-hour or so and just hold each other, running their hands over each other’s naked bodies and kissing like their lives depend on it, kissing like it’s the only thing keeping the TARDIS spinning through space and time, kissing until finally they can breathe and touch and push and pull and strain against and into each other, press each other back together and rip the universe apart.

(She will wonder, later in life, if perhaps this is why he left, because he knew that if they stayed together they would tear each other apart.)

Yes, the sex is always the best after at least one of them has almost died.

She’d give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant she could keep him safe.

(She will wonder, later in life, if that is why she let him leave.)


End file.
